“And what about Dillon. Do you wish him harm?”
“Dillon will come to no harm while he is a guest in my home. I promise.”
Ezra lifted Tatiana’s head. Wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me for what I said just now? I do know that Dillon is fundamentally a good man, honest, and loyal to the end. But I also understand that you’re pissed-off with him for putting a bullet in your ass, but he did save your life.”
Ezra raised his hands in mock submission, “Let us not dwell on this now. I will hopefully see you both at dinner, which will be served at eight o’clock on the south veranda.” The big Greek then turned and left the room as the afternoon sunlight drifted through the plantation blinds.
GCHQ Transcript 5. INTERCEPT OF RECENT NEWS INCIDENT LEVEL 5 CLASSIFICATIONS.
At 04.30 AM (GMT), a number of leading banking institutions from a number of EU countries including Italy, Austria, Belgium and Germany reported computer system failures, leading to an involuntary suspension of trading for a 30 second period.
When systems were re-booted, bank officials found that during this 30 second involuntary shut-down, certain government holding accounts had been accessed and an undisclosed amount taken from each of them. However, early speculation by some experts estimate up to seven hundred million Euros of tax-payers money had been snatched from each account that had been hacked into.
Prior to this, no bank had reported any technical failures or any suspicious factors.
A spokesperson for Interpol made this comment: Interpol is working closely with Intelligence Services from all of those countries who have suffered this computer hacking disaster. We are comparing data of organised crime syndicates including terrorist organisations and are also combining computer crime departments in order to maximise available resources.
Chapter 12
The small private Boeing jet flashed through the moonlight, engines whining in deceleration. Mountains reared all around, snow capped peaks soaring skywards. The sleek aircraft banked and came smoothly down to land amid and seemingly withinthe mountains, undercarriage dipping as tyres made contact with the tarmac runway.
The plane taxied to a halt and a single emergency vehicle at the rough rocky perimeter of the runway sat watching in the extreme cold, headlights blazing through the light snow fall. A black Range Rover raced across the apron as the cabin door was opened and the on-board steps lowered.
The only passenger aboard the private jet stepped out, the fur collar of his coat pulled up around his face, shielding him from the biting north wind. He was a man of small build with sandy coloured hair that was softly greying at the temples and was neatly trimmed and combed. He wore an expensive Italian suit and the finest handcrafted Italian shoes. He carried a slim aluminium briefcase in one perfectly manicured hand, and descended the steps with measured care, apparently unaffected by the Arctic conditions of cold that contrasted so dramatically with the comfortable conditions of the recently pressurised aircraft cabin.
“Professor Kirill, welcome back, sir.” The voice was heavily accented, and Kirill nodded at the man garbed in black military combat gear. Kirill seemed unconcerned that his bodyguard was now more heavily armed and carried a black Heckler & Koch MP6 carbine, and a webbing belt sporting half a dozen hand-grenades.
The driver of the black Range Rover opened the rear door and Kirill climbed into the warm air-conditioned interior. The door clicked solidly shut, protecting the occupant from the inclement weather outside. The military-clad man climbed into the front passenger seat, and a moment later the heavy off-road luxury vehicle was purring and driving off the tarmac runway and onto an un-made track carved between two mountain ranges.
They drove in silence. At first the track was pot-holed and rough and, then merged into a narrow country road, slushy and strewn with natural debris from recent storms. They drove around tight bends and along even narrower lanes until they were almost at their destination, the Range Rover’s heavy off-road tyres humming and bumping, and eventually came to a crossroads. All the while Kirill sat, perfectly composed, eyes closed, mind-set calm.
They turned left, the track started as a gentle incline and after half a mile became steeper as it wound its way up the mountain side; and as the terrain became more hostile, the Range Rover demonstrated its ability to cope with even the worst off-road conditions. Kirill allowed himself to smile at this rough and, some might say inhospitable, Godforsaken place that was such a contrast to the luxuriant interior of the vehicle he was travelling in. The thought pleased him.
They had to stop once, while the track was cleared of fallen rocks. With a wave of apology, the bodyguard slowly - painfully slowly
- removed the debris out of thevehicle’s path and Kirill was on his way without emotion flickering even for an instant on his neatly barbered face. His bright eyes stared straight ahead.
The Range Rover rumbled and bumped up the mountain side, its destination the Kirill Government research establishment, somewhere in the middle of the Scottish Highlands - its purpose un-guessable.
Kirill required very little sleep; he considered it to be nothing more than an interruption in his busy non-stop schedule. Ordinary people slept, and Kirill was no ordinary person...
“Sir.”
Kirill looked into the rear-view mirror and the eyes of the driver. “Are we there?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Range Rover halted at a sheer slab of impenetrable rock.
The driver spoke into his radio-link, and a moment later the slab parted and they drove into the mountain. Inside Kirill’s lair. The interior was cool; controlled. Polished stone floors stretched away in the large reception area; it was almost like a hotel, with low leather couches and tall potted palms placed strategically. A long curved reception desk stretched along one wall and glass elevators in clear shafts went down to the carefully temperature and humiditycontrolled depths where the main servers and the virus software research and development was carried out.
Kirill shook hands with Gregson, the head of the virus software R and D department.
“How are you, sir?”
“Well, Gregson. Considering I was shot and almost killed
recently.”
“I heard about that, sir. We were all sad to hear about your niece.
She was a nice kid. Was it true that it was an assassination attempt?” Kirill stared malevolently at the man, who had suddenly become
very pale.
“I... I... meant...”
“You will never mention my niece again,” the words were spoken
softly.
“Yes, of course, Professor Kirill.”
“Tell me what the overall status is with Scorpion
communications?”
“Since the total wipe-out of Scorpion HQ in London nobody
seems to know what is going on. All G8 communications have been
suspended by GCHQ - we tried to find out who had been in the
building at the time, but this information was withheld from us. And
considering that their main Hub had been destroyed...”
Kirill merely nodded, then asked, “How successful has the
Chimera accelerator programme been?”
“We have successfully hacked into 99% of all networks targeted.” “And what of the 1%?”
Gregson smiled smugly, “That was our own network, sir. We set
up a trial hack using one of our most powerful stand-alone processors,
which was loaded with an exact copy of Chimera, and then routed
around the planet back to this establishment. The attack programme
was analysed, located, and terminated within a millionth of a second
by Chimera.”
“How?”
“Since the last time you were here, professor, Chimera’s
chameleon script has further developed itself. By the time the attack
programme had reached it, Chimera had completely re-
written itself,
and was no longer the hunted but rather the hunter.”
“Excellent, Gregson. So Chimera is ready then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what of the un-scheduled access into the registry files?
The system must have lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“Yes, sir. This is still a mystery to us. Ramus has called several
times, and wants to speak to you upon your return.”
Kirill left the group behind and stepped into the elevator and the
calming silence as the glass door closed behind him. The tube hissed
away and carried him down to his luxury living quarters on the lower
level floor that he occupied alone. He kicked off his shoes, draped his
jacket over the back of a low backed chair and walked past a variety of
sculptures and carvings towards his study. He went straight to one of
the fine cherry wood cabinets, which concealed a humidor, and from
inside the temperature controlled cabinet he pulled a fine handmade
Cuban cigar, then poured himself a brandy and sat back in his plush
leather high-back chair. The comm. buzzed.
Kirill took a long draw from the cigar, enjoying the rich smooth
flavour, which filled his senses with its fullness, then hit the button. “Yes?”
“I have several things on my mind, Kirill. How much time will
you need to apply the final elements to the Chimera Programme?” “Two days, at most. The Gopher Protocol Code just needs a
little fine tuning.”
“And we will start to see the results, when?”
“Almost immediately. I am assured that Chimera will work at a
99% rate.”
“And the Satan virus and worm release element has been installed
and implemented?
“I am assured, by my top programmer, that if a computer is
connected to the World Wide Web at the time of launching the Satan
virus it will become infected. Irrespective of any anti-virus protection
installed.”
“Excellent. Howare you feelingafter your near-death encounter?” “I have felt better.” Kirill smiled nastily. He stubbed out the
cigar, took a sip of brandy and swivelled round in his chair to stare
at one of his many fine oil paintings. This one in particular was his
favourite as it could hold his gaze and never cease to amaze him; he
loved the way the artist had captured, forever in time, the serenity of
the lake scene. He loved the way in which the early morning lighting
and rising mist, created a surreal calm in a world of mayhem. “I have a piece of good news for you. Jake Dillon - has been
located. Tracked. He is presently on the Greek Island of Santorini.
Despite Dillon’s best attempts to evade us it would seem that our
extensive network of satellites has worked well. We tracked him,
but his destination is quite obvious - he seeks Ezra, at that infernal
listening and monitoring station, I wish I could forget about.” “Ezra,” said Kirill through an exhalation of smoke. “There is a
name I have not heard for a very long time.”
“I had hoped that he would have died by now,” came the soft
voice at the other end of the comm. “But then, Dillon is almost doing
us a favour. They have discovered the covert location of the European
collective Government’s establishment for software research and
development. Yes by an amazing coincidence, it would seem that
Ezra is the man who seeks to create his own version of the Chimera
Programme.”
“The fool,” snorted Kirill. “He would need years to develop
anything like my Chimera Programme!”
“I agree,” Said Ramus, “but the fact still remains that he has
working knowledge, available technology, and copies of the basic
Chimera blue-prints and cryptographic algorithms. We need to ensure
the safety of this information - we must either retrieve or destroy
them. We can kill two birds with one stone.”
“How many Assassins will you send?”
“Have no fear, old friend. I will send enough,” said the voice of
Ramus softly. “There cannot be that much resistance; after all, we will
have the element of surprise on our side.” He laughed softly. “The Assassins will erase them all.”
“Good.”
“Our time is coming, Kirill. Can you taste it? Our time is
definitely coming and when we have complete control, we will not
abuse our power, we will not fritter away our resources like so many
political powers have done through the ages, and let evil corrupt men
rule the world. We will be just and fair... not weak and pathetic... but
to get that far, first there must be mayhem and suffering on a global
scale...”
Dark eyes glittered and there came a pause. A long and thoughtful
pause. “I have a request,” said Kirill eventually. He was still facing
the oil painting that dominated the wall, but something was changing
within him, something strange, and something he could hardly bear.
Somehow the colours were disappointing to him now; what he craved
was reality.
“And what is that?” asked Ramus.
“Dillon: I want a guarantee. I want that bastard dead.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Said Ramus.
* * *
Night was turning to dawn across the Scottish Highlands. Outside, the temperature had plummeted and the sky was perfectly clear, stars fading into temporary oblivion as the sun embarks on its daily journey. Kirill still sat in his chair, the room now in total darkness, only the glow of a cigar in his hand evidence that he remained in the deep underground office, awake, alert, dark eyes glittering. He scratched at the scar on his belly self consciously.
He stared at images of the mountain range, just a blackened outline in the low cold light of dawn, stark and foreboding on the monitor screen. Nothing stirred; there were no lights, no movement, and no intrusions. This place was emptiness; this place was a void. The establishment was invisible; a non place; a deniable spectre in the maw of the Scottish wilderness.
Kirill smiled softly to himself.
All around him, in the silence, he could almost feel the hive of activity. A small army of workers: programmers, hardware engineers, hackers, the world’s finest computing minds working together on some of the most excitingly advanced projects ever embarked upon.
The Chimera Programme. The first-ever self-learning chameleon virus programme.
The prototype of an artificial mind. That knows no boundaries.
The ultimate virus...
Kirill had created Chimera to be used against terrorists and organised crime syndicates. But had soon realised that with some fine tuning, it could be used to bring down, almost any network including; banks, military installations, police and other emergency services and government departments: it could infiltrate any type of computer, and, within the blink of and eye, access encrypted files and extract every scrap of information, before shutting the computer down. Permanently. It would be the perfect weapon. It would make him, and Ramus, and the others... it would make them rich, it would make them powerful but - more importantly...
It would make them God.
Kirill sighed, exhaling a spiral of white smoke into the darkness. Diffused light invaded the black. A figure stepped forward, and soft bare footsteps approached.
He gazed up at the figure, naked now, body perfectly toned, perfectly formed; muscular and tanned. Kirill licked his lips and met the blue-eyed gaze of the young blond-haired woman. To Kirill, this was his idea of
the perfect female - athletic and nubile.
Kirill’s gaze travelled down, and then back up again across the perfectly formed thighs, hips, stomach, breasts - and to the face. The tanned skin with her piercingly blue eyes.
The face was beautiful.
Cold and beautiful.
Kirill smiled a strange twisted smile.
He could feel desire and lust rise up through his body. “If only you were real,” he said picking up the remote handset off of his desk, and ending the three dimensional hologram programme, the room was thrown back into total blackness.
Chapter 13
Dillon knew it was a dream, and yet somehow that made it worse. While awake he had some element of control; but in the dream he was merely a spectator and already knew the order of events and the outcome. Knew what happened, knew about the organised crime syndicates and drug cartels, and knew about the shocking after-effects when the specialdrugs were handed out freely to those addicted, to what had become known as Death Candy, in every major city around the globe... and yet, again and again he could relive those dark moments with dismay, anger and pure hatred - but without control or the ability to stop the potential death toll rising into the tens of millions...
He stood, his boots planted firmly on the wet slippery deck of the huge oil tanker that cruised through the dark black waters of the Barents Sea. Dillon’s eyes were dark, deeply ringed, and the black uniform he was wearing smeared with grime and dried blood. The cold sea-breeze had turned his face numb, the tips of his ears tingled with the first signs of frost bite. His gloved hands clasped the Heckler & Koch machine pistol, the magazine fully loaded with mercury tipped rounds.
The British nuclear powered submarine had been on a hunterkill mission to intercept and board a Colombian owned oil tanker carrying Death Candy that was destined for every European city. What Dillon, and the submarine’s attack force, had found the mind could not comprehend. The entire hold of the tanker was full of drugs...
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 21
